The Secret Language of Names
by CelticFaerie2
Summary: HW AU future fic. Slash and strong friendship. Hurt comfort. Wilson struggles to deal with the reality of House's accident. Angst and woe. Please R&R Ch 10 now up.
1. Chapter 1

Wilson woke from a deep sleep to the soothing sound of water running. He woke slowly, momentarily disoriented. He turned over toward the bathroom door, eyes barely open. Light filtered through the crack at the bottom of the door, and as realization dawned on him, House gargled and spit.

Wilson smiled to himself and snuggled down under the blankets. It wasn't unusual for House to be up before him, it was only odd for him to have slept through House getting up. He usually made so much noise Wilson couldn't possibly sleep. Maybe he'd been extra careful to be quiet since he had to leave so early, or maybe Wilson had just been sleeping so deeply that he hadn't noticed when House woke and slipped out of the bed.

Judging from the sounds within the bathroom, he'd have just enough time to get up, stretch, and surprise House by joining him at the last possible moment. He thought about House standing at the sink, wearing only his boxers, going through his morning routine. It was tempting. But, he could stay where he was, eyes closed, and see if House would even wake him. He still had half an hour to sleep, so he stayed where he was.

He kept his expression neutral when the door opened. House usually didn't take his cane into the bathroom first thing in the morning, preferring to work the stiffness out of his leg by walking on it the little bit he moved around from bed to shower to brushing his teeth and back out again.

He dressed quietly in the dark, and reclaimed his cane before he bent down to kiss Wilson's cheek. Wilson couldn't resist turning in to the kiss, pressing his lips against House's mouth.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," House scolded.

"Sorry to spoil your fun," Wilson teased his hand up House's arm.

House laughed. "I'm not complaining."

"Good." Wilson's hand lingered at the back of House's neck and pulled him down as Wilson strained up, for another kiss. "You sure you don't want me to drive you?"

House sought Wilson's hand with his own, linking their fingers. "I'm sure."

"I can be up and ready in ten minutes."

"You can stay in bed and sleep another half hour or so."

Wilson nodded "Okay." He drew House's hand to his lips, kissed the knuckles. "You'll be careful?"

"I'm always careful."

"Sure you are."

House tugged his hand from Wilson's grasp, and redirected it to touch his knuckles to Wilson's cheek. "Hey."

Wilson tilted his head to look up and meet House's eyes. "Hey yourself," he closed his eyes and rubbed his cheek against House's hand. House leaned in to kiss Wilson's forehead, then took a step back. "I love you."

"Love you," House answered without looking back until he reached the door. He smiled and nodded, and pivoted out of Wilson's sight. "See you at the clinic," he called out with the front door open. The door closed and Wilson heard the sound of House's key in the lock before he could answer.

Wilson lay on his back staring up at the ceiling for a few minutes. He had 33 minutes until the alarm would go off for him to get up. He knew he wasn't going to sleep in that half hour, but he'd lay in bed a little longer. He turned on his side, his hands moving up to curl around House's pillow, releasing a burst of House's scent into the air. Smiling, Wilson shifted his head to rest on House's pillow.

He didn't often sleep in later than House like this. Usually they were up at the same time, or Wilson got up as soon as House finished in the shower. It was a rare treat for him to wallow in the bed for a while after House left.

He was just starting to drift back to sleep when the alarm sounded. Startled, he groped for the clock, smacking his hand down on the snooze button. It didn't shut off. He sat up, holding the alarm clock in his hands, disoriented. As his mind cleared, he realised it wasn't the alarm at all, he still had four minutes.

His cell phone was ringing.

He stumbled out of the bed, feet tangled in the sheets, and nearly fell. He managed to catch himself, but he missed the call. Caller ID flashed his brother's name. He sighed and looked to the home phone just as it started to ring.

If he hadn't been so annoyed, he'd have been shocked Josh was awake and alert enough to call him at 7:00 am. He sat down on the bed and reached for the receiver. "Good morning, sunshine."

"I gotta see you, JJ."

"I'm busy all day, Josh. Meetings till 5, dinner with Lisa and the girls after that." He shut off the alarm while he was talking.

On the other end of the phone, he imagined Josh pulling at his hair. "No, man. You don't understand."

"I have to go, Josh."

"Asshole," Josh most likely sneered at the phone.

Wilson sighed as he hung up. "Love you too, Josh." His alarm would have gone off just then. He scrubbed a hand over his face, stood, and stretched. He glanced back at the hone, an unsettled feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

He knew what Josh wanted. The same thing Josh always wanted. Money. Money for the drugs he swore he wasn't taking. Short of dragging him to a rehab against his will, there was little Wilson could do about his brother's habit.

Besides, he had enough drug problems to worry about with House. Making sure he wasn't indulging a little too much or too often in his Vicodin, making sure he wasn't drinking too much. He would have preferred House not drink at all, but he'd learned to choose his battles carefully with House, and that was a battle he'd never win, so as long as House kept it to a minimum, he over looked it, because he didn't like to fight with House. Josh on the other hand, seemed to like to pick fights, and sometimes it was easier just to avoid him.

Wilson dropped the soap twice while he was showering. All the tooth paste sloshed off his brush before he'd gotten it to his mouth. He struggled with his contacts, and then with the knot of his tie. Things he could do in his sleep.

By the time he'd fixed himself a bagel to eat, he really didn't want it. He took two bites, threw it away, and headed out the door to his car. He was sitting in traffic, trying in vain to see what was going on up ahead, figuring it was an accident, when his cell phone rang. He sighed, assumed it was his brother, and thought to ignore it. He decided to check the caller ID anyway, and saw Lisa Cuddy's name.

Why would Lisa be calling in at 7:00 am, unless something was wrong with the girls? Fear stabbed his gut. "Lisa?" He turned the radio off.

:James." One word, and he could tell she'd been crying, and was struggling to keep her voice level. "James, it's Greg. There's been an accident."

The car ahead of him had inched up, and he in he gap, he could see farther ahead. He could see an orange bike. What was left of it, anyway, at the side of the road. The phone slid from his ear, and dread overwhelmed him.

He could hear Lisa saying his name in the phone, and the chorus of car horns behind him. It all sounded so far away, and a black fog clouded his vision. Eyes squeezed shut, he pounded his fists against the steering wheel and screamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Five minutes or five hours, time had no meaning. He couldn't do anything about the traffic , or the ticking of the seconds on the watch he wore. The watch House had given him five months earlier to recognize five months together. The car clock showed 47 minutes since he'd answered the call from Cuddy, since he'd seen House's bike at the side of the road, until he pulled into the staff parking lot at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

His hair was a mess, his eyes wide and unfocused, his tie undone and hanging about his shoulders. How he'd managed to avoid causing a wreck himself, he couldn't be sure. Nor did he care. He had a one track mind, a full-steam mission to find House.

Brenda met him just inside the door, clearly waiting for him. He steeled himself with a deep breath, the sight of someone familiar threatening to crack the very thin veil of self control he so carefully held in place. Brenda touched his arm. "Come on," was all she said, saving him from saying anything at all, and she led him through the hospital halls he knew well.

She took him to the observation deck at OR 4. Dr Harris from Pediatrics stood, nodded at Wilson, and joined Brenda to retreat from the small room. Cuddy stood and silently embraced Wilson. Wilson's taller frame curled around her, as if seeking to lose himself in her arms. She whispered soothing words and rubbed his back while the emotions overwhelmed him.

He looked past her shoulder to the surgery below. House was unrecognizable on the table, and it was impossible to see how extensive the damage might be. Wilson straightened and wiped both hands across his face. His left hand made its way to the back of his neck. "How…" he started, but his voice cracked and disintegrated to tears.

"Sit down." Cuddy tried to guide him to a chair. He shook her off his arm, his focus too intent on the table and the surgery in progress. Impossible to tell what was happening down there, they had sheets draped over House, and his head turned to face the opposite direction.

"Tell me," Wilson managed to whisper. He turned from the window to make eye contact with her for a moment or two. "How bad is it?" He knew it was bad. He'd seen the bike. He'd seen the other cars involved. The fact House was alive at all had to be a miracle in itself.

"Let's go talk in my office."

"No." He didn't glance back at her. He didn't have to. She knew he wasn't going to budge.

She steeled her nerves with a deep breath, shifting in to professional mode. As professional as she could be when one of her best friends lay on the operating table. "Witnesses say the car beside him drifted," her voice broke and she had to pause. Wilson didn't react. "He swerved, and crossed the yellow line. An oncoming car hit him," she paused again to catch her breath, to regroup.

Wilson's back stiffened, and his watch ticked off another minute. Roughly an hour and a half since House had kissed his lips and slipped out the door. "How bad is it?"

"He was dragged several hundred feet. There's head trauma, but his helmet would have protected him. We won't know, until he wakes up."

"His left side was crushed, James." Emotion wavered in her voice again. She tilted her head, looking to meet his eyes. "Dr Lawson wants to amputate." Her voice was low, tentative, apprehensive.

"No." His eyes flashed dark and disbelieving at her. She'd been his primary, when the infarction was diagnosed, when he'd fought for his right to refuse amputation of his leg. She knew how he felt about that. He'd nearly died because he'd been so adamant. Wilson wouldn't take that right away from him now. "No. You tell them. You tell them, Cuddy. You tell them no."

Cuddy placed both her hands on his arm. He shifted, but didn't look at her, didn't look away from the surgery in progress below. "His arm," she stopped herself, held her breath for a moment to regain her composure. She'd seen his arm. She knew there was no hope. "His arm was ruined, James. There's nothing left to put back together."

"No. No." Wilson shook his head. "No. He was fine. He kissed me before he left. He promised he'd be careful."

"This wasn't his fault."

Wilson turned his head abruptly, looking at Cuddy as if she'd told him to go to hell. He raised his hands to beat against his forehead. "You tell them no, Dr Cuddy."

Cuddy shook her head. "I'm sorry, James." She lifted one hand up to push the hair off his forehead. He looked down, resisting her touch. "I'm so sorry." She attempted to silently urge him toward the chairs.

"No." He rubbed his face with both hands, pressed the heels against his eyes, fingers gripping his hair. "I can't," he murmured. Cuddy circled her arms around him. He sagged against her, nearly throwing them both off balance, but she managed to steel her weight against him and keep him upright. Hands in his hair, she tried to comfort him when she knew there was no comfort.

"I need you to listen to me, James," Cuddy said after several minutes. Wilson's breath hitched with sobs he tried to suppress. "We can't save his arm, and no matter what we do about his leg, he's never going to walk. His right knee is blown out too, and the femur is broken."

"No. Not," Wilson met Cuddy's eyes. Anguish made the irises darker than usual. He blinked, and the promise of tears glistened bright. It took him a moment to find the strength to speak again, with tears sliding down each cheek. "Not his legs."

"I'm sorry, James."

Wilson nodded, and turned back to the observation window. "You tell them." He raised one hand, his left hand, to the spot where he could see just the back of House's head, the salt and pepper of his hair against the blue sheet. Cuddy gave his arm a supportive squeeze to say she'd go down and talk to Lawson. Her shoes echoed on the linoleum floor, and the creak of the door sounded loud as fireworks in the silence of Wilson's grief.

As soon as she was gone, his hand slid down the glass, and he turned his back to the window to slide his body down to the floor, knees drawn up and head pressed forward, arms clasped around his legs. "Not his legs," he whispered again, to the empty room. "Not his legs."


	3. Chapter 3

They put House at the very end of the hall, out of respect for Wilson. People were less likely to parade in front of the room because the hallway met a dead end there. Wilson stood in the doorway, clutching the door frame as if it was the only thing holding him up, for a long moment. Behind him, Cuddy and Harris and Lawson held their breaths and exchanged worried glances.

"James," Cuddy finally spoke, voice deliberately soft and soothing.

Wilson started, pulled from the memory of the early morning, when House had come out of the bathroom. They'd smiled and kissed, House had been fine; bright eyed and smelling of minty tooth paste. "We were supposed to meet for lunch," he said softly, barely a whisper. Cuddy had to strain to hear the words. Wilson hadn't taken his eyes off the still figure in the bed.

"I know." Cuddy reached up to rub his shoulder. He finally looked at her, blinking back tears. Her hand slid down his arm to clasp his hand, to give a gentle and supportive squeeze.

Wilson nodded a brave nod. He sniffled and exhaled. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

"I know." Cuddy looked past Wilson, in to the room where House lay. "I'm sorry."

Wilson nodded again, losing bravado. "I've always told him I'd never let anything happen to him." Before Cuddy could reply, Wilson crossed the threshold into House's room. From the doorway, he looked like any other critical patient. Blankets pulled up to his arm pits, tubes and wires extending from his nose, mouth, and chest. IV in his hand, which was secured to a stiff board to prevent tangling.

One step, then two, and House's face came in to focus. Wilson's eyes closed. His posture slumped, and he reached out to the end of the bed for the support of the bed frame. He didn't make a sound, though cries of anguish filled his head. "Oh Greg," he murmured, and raised one hand to wipe at his eyes. Behind him, he heard one of the other doctors talking to Cuddy, telling her he had to do this on his own.

He closed his eyes and bent his chin to his chest. They were right. As much as he wanted Cuddy to walk with him, hold his hand, and hold him up, he had to do it on his own. He had to be strong for House.

"I can do this," he muttered to himself. He looked up, tears in his eyes making everything look brighter. Struggling to keep his composure, he moved along the bed at House's right side. He couldn't clasp House's hand, could only lay his hands over House's hand and gently squeeze. "I can do this," he repeated, even as he bent over the bed, laying his cheek against House's chest, his body shaking with sobs. "I can't, I can't," he moaned, words muffled against House's blankets.

In the silence that followed, interrupted only by the hums and beeps of House's monitors, Wilson became keenly aware of the rhythmic tick-tock of his watch. House had taken him to a five star hotel and restaurant to celebrate their anniversary. The gift had been completely unexpected, on top of that. A 14K watch, engraved with i JW, I love you more with each passing second. GH 5-17-06 /i on the back plate.

Straightening himself suddenly, Wilson tugged the watch off his arm, struggling with the clasp, growling with the effort. Once the band was freed, he traced his finger over the message. He lay the watch face up on House's chest, and held his hand over it, fingers curling into a fist with the watch and the blankets beneath.

It might have been five minutes or five hours that he stayed like that. House would have known to the minute, he'd always had an internal clock that was rarely off. He woke up on his own, and always knew exactly when a batch of home made cookies should come out of the oven. That was one reason, aside from the inscription, that made the watch so sentimental for Wilson.

"God damn it," Wilson pulled back to standing upright. Still clutching the watch and a handful of the blankets, he thrust his fists against House's chest. "It's not fair. Wake up, damn you. Wake up!" House's body offered no resistance, but the machines above his bed registered a change in heart rate.

Lawson and Harris lost the battle to keep Cuddy out of the room. She caught hold of Wilson's arm and steered him a step back and away from House. She said his name to try to reach him. He crumbled, body folding against her, arms around her. "It's not fair!" Wilson tripped over the words and his breath.

"Shhh. Shhh. I know, I know," Cuddy cooed. Lawson and Harris brought the chair over, placing it only a few steps behind Wilson. Cuddy guided him those few steps and urged Wilson to sit in it. He stumbled backward, somehow resisting at the same time he consented. Once he was settled, Lawson smoothed the blankets over House and ran a quick check on his vitals. Cuddy knelt in front of Wilson, her hands on his knees.

"I can't do this," he moaned, his voice broken and irregular. He tried to meet her eyes, but dropped his head, eyes closed, unable to look at her.

"Shhh. You can. You have to," Cuddy encouraged in her best professional voice, despite the dips of emotion that pushed through. "Come on. You've got to settle down. I know you're hurt and you're angry. I am too. But you've got to stay focused. Stay in control in here. He needs to know you're here, and you're strong. You can't be falling a part, yelling at him."

"I can't…" He stopped, pulled back from Cuddy's embrace, and held his hand against his mouth. As if that would hold everything in, and make it all go away, and take him back to waking up and hearing the comforting sounds of House in the bathroom before anything bad happened, and maybe if he kept House talking and he didn't leave right away, everything would be fine and this wouldn't have happened and House would be bitching and moaning about working clinic first thing in the morning. Just one minute, two minutes, could have made a difference, and House wouldn't be lying in the ICU.

Cuddy rose up on her knees, her hands moved to Wilson's shoulders. "You have to, James. Look at me. He needs you to be strong." Wilson's face contorted in unspoken anguish. The words wouldn't form, could only come out in tears and choked sobs. "Let it out, James. Let it all out. And after this, no more. Not in here."

Wilson pulled her against him so that he could cry into her shoulder. Cuddy smoothed the hair away from his face with one hand. Her other hand reached down to take the watch from his hand. "Let it all out," she repeated and kissed the top of his head then lay her cheek to rest there. Her thumb rubbed over the inscription on the back of Wilson's watch.


	4. Chapter 4

Wilson lay across two chairs, his head cocked at an awkward angle, his legs hanging off the far end. He couldn't possibly be comfortable, and yet Cuddy hesitated a moment before disturbing him. She touched his arm and he jumped awake, the sudden jerk of his body separating the chairs and he fell. He surged up to his feet, rubbing first his jaw then his hip where he'd hit the floor, his eye darting to scan the display of House's monitors.

Cuddy touched his arm again. "Sorry," she murmured. "He's fi- the same. He has a slight temp, nothing to be concerned about."

Wilson didn't object to her hand on his arm, but reached forward to touch his fingers to House's cheek. "What time is it?"

"7:15. I have to go pick up the girls. I want you to come with me. Come to dinner with me and the girls like we planned."

Quarter after seven. House had made it through the first twelve hours. Wilson looked over his shoulder at her, his hand moving up to stroke his fingers through House's hair. "I can't leave him."

"You need to eat, James."

Wilson straightened and shook his head. "I can't leave him, Lisa." His eyes shifted to House, back to Cuddy. "I can't."

"He's unconscious."

"He knows I'm here. He'd know if I wasn't here. I can't."

Cuddy raised her palm to his cheek, much like he'd touched House a moment ago. His eyes closed and he nuzzled his face against her palm. "He needs you to be strong, James, and you can't keep your strength if you don't eat. The girls are expecting you."

He drew his head away from her hand and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "They're expecting him too."

Cuddy nodded, her gaze drifting to the floor. "I know. I have to tell them. I want you to be there."

Wilson's face contorted in agony, wrought with emotion he couldn't process. He stepped back, almost falling into the chair behind him. His posture slumped, head down and elbows braced on his knees. "No. No," he moaned. Resistance, not refusal. "No. I can't. No."

Cuddy put a hand to his shoulder, and after a moment, he looked up at her. "I can't leave him, Lisa. I can't."

"It's dinner, James. We'll be five minutes away. You know they'll page us if anything changes."

"No." Wilson shook his head. "I'm not-"

Cuddy stiffened her back for effect, she wasn't tall enough to make herself seem more authoritative, but she knew how to work what she had, and she was above all else, his friend. "You're being stubborn, and while it's admirable, it's also incredibly stupid. House isn't going to wake up tonight. He won't wake up tomorrow. Not even the day after. But he's stable. He's holding his own right now, and when he does wake up he's going to need you to be strong and ready to help hold him up. You need to sleep, you need to eat, because once he wakes up he's going to need you by his side, and we both know he's going to try his damnedest to push you away. You've got to be prepared for that, and I'll be damned if I'll let you sit here and let you destroy yourself before he has a chance to get to you."

Wilson didn't answer for a long, tense moment. He moved to stand beside the bed, and held House's hand in his. He held House's fingers against his cheek, turned his head to kiss House's knuckles. He leaned over to whisper in House's ear, speaking too low for Cuddy to hear. Standing up again, he carefully pulled the watch off his arm and clasped it around House's wrist. Holding House's hand in his again, he leaned over the bed and softly kissed the corner of House's mouth.

Finally turning to look at Cuddy, Wilson nodded. "Dinner," was all he said because his voice broke and he couldn't say any more.

Cuddy reached for his hand. "Thank you."

Cuddy called one of her friends to pick the girls up at day care and drop them off at the restaurant. She and Wilson had a table near the door, so she could see Gloria pull up. She went out to meet them at the door, leaving Wilson to sit at the table. He fidgeted with his silverware, sipped absently at his coke.

"DJ!" the girls yelled in unison, and raced toward him. He turned in his seat to catch them both in a hug, one under each arm. "Where's Uncle Greg, DJ?" four and a half year old Alexa asked, and Wilson pulled back to look at both girls. Only a little more than a year younger, Adira was nearly as tall as her sister. Alexa seemed to be taking after her mother, while Adira apparently took after her father.

His eyes flickered over their heads at Cuddy, she shook her head, but he knew she hadn't told them anything. He blinked and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Uncle Greg," he started slowly, a hand on each of the girl's shoulders. His eyes closed and he dropped his head.

Cuddy stood close enough to lay her hands on the other shoulders. "Alexa, Adira, I have to tell you something very important. I need you to listen carefully, okay?"

"Okay, mama," the girls answered.

"Uncle Greg had an accident today, and he's going to be okay." Cuddy looked to Wilson, but Wilson's head was still bent. "But DJ is really sad, because Uncle Greg is hurt really bad and he's in the hospital right now."

Adira crawled up on Wilson's knee and slid her arms around his neck. He lifted his head up and she kissed his cheek. "I don't want you be sad, DJ," she declared, and patted his cheek. "Mama said Uncle Greg going to be okay."

Wilson opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He simply nodded and hugged both girls to him. Alexa stood leaning back against Wilson's leg. Her hands found his bare wrist, her fingers caressing the spot where his watch should be. He smiled down at her. "I left it with Uncle Greg," he managed to say, and settled back in his seat. Tears glistened in his eyes, but didn't fall. If he had to be strong for House, he had to be twice as strong for his daughters.

"Why?" Adira asked, her tiny hand resting against his neck.

Wilson glanced up at Cuddy, then back to Adira. "So he could count the seconds," Wilson paused and breathed in deep through his nose, "until I get back to the hospital to be with him."

"Oh," Adira said and nuzzled against his neck. "Is him sad you're not there?"

"I think he is," Wilson forced a smile.

"But we're glad you're here," Alexa offered, and Adira agreed with a nod.

Wilson glanced at Cuddy. He couldn't take much more of their innocence. Cuddy patted the seat next to Wilson. "Girls, you need to decide what you want to eat."

Alexa reluctantly moved away from Wilson and climbed onto her seat. Adira circled her arms around Wilson's neck and clasped her hands together, refusing to move of Wilson's lap. He looked at Cuddy, to assure her it was fine, because if Adira climbed down from his lap, he'd have to excuse himself to the bathroom, and would probably walk right out the front door and walk to the hospital.

As it was, he didn't eat much of his burger, and Adira ate his fries instead of her own dinner. The kids got a free scoop of ice cream with a sugar cone turned upside down and candies added to make the dish look like a clown face. Adira awkwardly scooped out a spoonful of ice cream and offered it to Wilson. "Mama says should only get desert if you eat your dinner, but sometimes it's okay when your sad if you break the rules."

"Your mama's a smart lady." Wilson accepted the spoon, even though he didn't want it.

Adira took a bite too, then pushed the dish toward Wilson. "You take the rest to Uncle Greg and hims feel better too."

The tears he'd been struggling to keep back finally pushed past his resistance. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Cuddy lifted Adira off his lap, and it took all his strength to keep from breaking down completely. He inhaled deeply and deliberately, sniffling to try to get his emotions back inside. He had to keep it together in front of the girls, just like he would have to keep it together in front of House.

Cuddy laid enough money on the table to cover the bill and the tip. "Come on," she urged softly.

"Mama, can we see Uncle Greg at the hospital?" Alexa asked. The girls didn't go to the hospital often, but when they did they made the rounds from Cuddy's office on the ground floor to Diagnostics and Oncology on the fourth floor, visiting.

"No, baby. Not yet," Cuddy answered as she reached for Wilson's hand. Alexa held her other hand, and Adira went around to hold Wilson's free hand.


	5. Chapter 5

He walked Cuddy and the girls to the car, and helped strap the girls in their seats. He fumbled with Adira's buckles, to the point she finally told him she could do it herself. He leaned across Adira in order to kiss Alexa's cheek, then tapped Adira's nose. She reached up to grab his and giggled, holding her thumb between her fingers to represent stealing his nose. It was a trick House often played with the girls, until they hurt from laughing so much.

Wilson smiled and kissed Adira's cheek. "You girls behave for Mommy tonight," he whispered, voice strained with the emotion he knew he had to keep down. He could get through this. He'd see Cuddy and the girls off and then go back to the hospital. Maybe slip into his office for a few minutes alone before he went back to House's room.

"We will, DJ," the girls assured him in unison. Their voices pulled him back to the present. He smiled a smile he didn't feel and straightened to close the door. Both girls waved to him. He raised a hand to wave back.

Cuddy walked around the car and stood by the trunk. He glanced at her quickly, and averted his eyes. She stepped closer and put a hand up to his shoulder. "You call me, anytime, if you need anything." Wilson nodded. He didn't trust his voice to speak. Cuddy squeezed his arm and rose up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He stood unmoving, as if unaffected when the opposite was true. He was afraid to give in to the emotion, afraid that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. "It's going to be all right," Cuddy whispered softly. She started to draw away from him, her fingers lingering on his arm. He turned his hand to catch her fingers against his, and suddenly pulled her to him. He wrapped his arms around her, bent his face to the crook of her neck. She brought her arms up to his shoulders, holding him close. "Shhh. Shhh," she cooed, fingers drifting over the back of his neck.

After a moment, he stiffened, and stepped back. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I need..." he turned his gaze toward the hospital.

Cuddy nodded. "Give him our love."

He sucked his breath in, attempting to be brave. He didn't speak, but nodded his head toward the car. Cuddy kissed his cheek again, before walking back around to the driver's side of the car. "You call me if you need me, James."

He turned away, head bent, hands in his pockets. He didn't want to watch her drive away, taking the girls with her.

i She had asked them to join her for dinner at the new seafood and steakhouse on the water. It turned out to be far more elegant and expensive than they'd considered, and House wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. He'd buttoned his dress shirt, and his jacket hid most of the wrinkles. Wilson smiled apologetically at Cuddy, it was the best he could do. House didn't get dressed up for dinner, or much of anything at all.

They'd only just made their commitment official, and the nagging thought that tugged at Wilson's mind as House tugged at his collar, was that she was going to ask them to be more discrete at work. They'd been meeting for lunch for years (mostly so House could steal half Wilson's food without buying his own), and it wasn't uncommon for Wilson to consult on House's cases. Wilson didn't think their behavior had changed at work, but it would only take one person complaining to make Cuddy feel she had to take action. She was the administrator, and she had a hospital to run.

The dinner dishes were cleared off the table, and Cuddy leaned in to create a sense of confidentiality. House leaned back, tugging childishly at his collar. Wilson nudged him under the table, but otherwise ignored his antics. "You both know I've been looking for a sperm donor for my child," Cuddy stated, oblivious or not, about what was going on under the table.

"You need to look at people, not a file," House said with something that sounded like a reprimand touching his voice.

"That's what I'm doing." Cuddy's eyes shifted between the two men. "I asked the two of you here tonight because I wanted to ask James to be the father of my children."

Wilson blinked back his shock. House laughed. "You...you..." he sputtered. Cuddy nodded. "You want Wilson to...to...to..."

"Yes."

"I'm crushed you didn't ask me," House brought a hand up to his heart. Cuddy reached across the table to clasp her hand on his arm. Even if he was serious she didn't feel the need to remind him his sperm had been drowning in drugs and alcohol for far too many years. He was a legend for more than his brilliance back at Michigan State.

"I'll let you two talk it over." Cuddy stood, excusing herself from the table. House looked at Wilson, as Wilson watched Cuddy walk to the restroom. As soon as she was out of sight, House nudged Wilson under the table. "Hey. You okay?"

Wilson nodded. "Just...wow."

"Yeah. You gonna do it?"

Wilson worried on his bottom lip for a moment. "I don't know."

"Why wouldn't you? It's your last chance to have a kid. I'm sure as hell not going to give you one."

Wilson's mouth twitched into a grin. "What? Afraid to ruin your girlish figure?"

"You know it.," House answered with a laugh.

Wilson straightened and shifted in his seat. He discretely took hold of House's hand. "You really think I should do it? House, a baby is a big thing."

House turned his hand over, so that they were palm to palm. "Do you want to do it?" He let his fingers drift over Wilson's palm.

"I don't know." Wilson rubbed his other hand over his face, pulling at his chin. "After Sarah, I never even thought about having kids."

"Technically, Cuddy's having the kid. You just have to..." House used his other hand to make a suggestive gesture.

Wilson arched a brow. "You want me to do it," he stated. He didn't understand it, but he got the message.

"I want to know that after you're gone, there might still be a part of you here."

Wilson looked down at their hands, and covered House's hand with his other hand. House wasn't usually romantic. He was harsh and abrasive. But there were moments, like this moment, that completely disarmed Wilson. He nodded and lifted his gaze to meet House's eyes. /i 

Those words echoed in his mind. "I want to know that after you're gone, there might still be a part of you here." That thought pushed Wilson forward, almost running the rest of the way to the hospital. He stopped and smoothed down the front of his shirt before walking inside.

Several people greeted Wilson with an air of concern. Wilson did his best to smile and continued toward the elevators. Alone in the car, he struggled to keep his composure, focused on just getting to his office. He turned the other way, heading to House's office instead. The lights were off, shrouding Diagnostics in shadow. He didn't flip the switch, but navigated his way to House's desk in the dark.

"I want to know that after you're gone, there might still be a part of you here." Wilson picked up the Lacrosse ball from House's desk. He rubbed it between his hands, rolled it under his nose to take in the lingering scent of House. He pressed it against his forehead before replacing it on the desk.

Turning the chair, he activated House's iPod, filling the office with the unmistakable wail of Mick Jagger's voice. He smiled in spite of himself and picked up the pestle and mortar from the shelf behind the desk. House had finally admitted to Wilson that he had used the pestle to crush his fingers during the week he had been off the Vicodin as part of a bet with Cuddy. Wilson had in turn admitted to being the mastermind behind the bet, and he thought he would never forget the anticipation he'd felt, fearing House would reject him. But House had suspected all along, and in the end the confession had been a relief for them both.

Wilson lay his right hand flat on House's desk, and caressed the tops of his fingers with the pestle. He tried to imagine just how desperate House must have been in that moment, desperate to distract himself from the pain, desperate enough to effectively gnaw his own leg off. With a growl, Wilson lurched his arm back and swung forward, instantly crushing the fingers of his right hand.


	6. Chapter 6

He taped his fingers himself, using tape from House's desk. Loose, just as House had wanted his so many years ago. He needed to feel the throbbing in his fingers, needed to feel the ache in his hand.

He stood at the door to the balcony facing his own office. The sky had gone dark, the courtyard below bathed in artificial light. How many times had he and House met on that balcony? How many times had he watched House climb over the brick dividing wall, awkwardly yet graceful as he avoided coming down on his right leg.

He dropped his head forward, thumping against the glass of the door. He beat his head until a headache throbbed behind his eyes. He kicked the door once, sending waves of pain up to his knee, before turning away. Moving forward, he thrust his arm across House's desk, clearing the surface. Pens and papers, trinkets and toys clattered to the floor.

He growled and pulled the drawers loose of the tracking, dumping magazines, newspapers, files, and House's stash of Vicodin and red lolly pops scattered across the floor at his feet.

He gathered what he could in his arms, groping in the darkness for the items that had meaning for House. Lacrosse ball, yoyo, iPod, electronic games, red lolly pops, empty Vicodin bottle, another bottle with five or six pills inside. He struggled to keep everything in his arms, and used his shoulder to push the office door open. The elevator proved to be a bit more challenging, but he managed.

"Dr Wilson?" Several of the nurses on the second floor called his name. He kept his head high, eyes focused straight ahead, unflinching, as if he didn't hear them. "Dr Wilson," a nurse named Kelly followed him to House's room, where he dropped all of the things he carried onto the bed. He shook out his hand, sending shocks of pain through his fingers.

She said his name again before he looked at her. "What is all of this?"

"His things. He needs his toys so he can think." Wilson's mouth quirked in a small smile.

"Dr Wilson, I don't think…"

Wilson shook his head. "Have you ever seen him work? He's so intense. When he's tossing the ball on the end of his cane, you have to wonder how he can concentrate on anything else, but he's thinking and he's putting things together in his head and he won't stop until he figures it out."

"Yes, Dr Wilson." Kelly stepped back, and eased out of the room.

Wilson glanced at the door, and moved to close it. He returned to the side of the bed, pulling one of the chairs with him. He ignored the chair in favor of arranging the items he'd brought from House's office on the bed. He turned the iPod on and set it on the bedside table.

The unmistakable sound of Johnny Cash pulsed to life. Wilson bent his head, his hair falling forward to brush against House's chest.

i I hurt myself today/To see if I still feel.

I focus on the pain/The only thing that's real. /i 

He reached up, moving his bandaged fingers across House's cheek, over his lips. He arranged the red lollypops around the iPod. He placed the lacrosse ball in House's hand, Game Boy and yoyo on his chest.

Satisfied everything had a proper place, Wilson leaned in to press his lips against House's lips. House remained stiff and unyielding beneath him, and Wilson abandoned the kisses to press his forehead against House's forehead.

Cuddy sent the girls upstairs to change in to the pajamas and promised to read them a story. She always read to them before bed, and every night they asked and begged as if it wasn't part of the routine. They all changed in to pajama and climbed in to one bed. If they piled in to Alexa's bed, Adira picked he story, and vice versa.

"Mama!" Alexa called from the top of the stairs. "Is you coming?"

"In a minute," Cuddy called back. She realised she'd been standing in the middle of the kitchen since they came in the house. She rubbed a hand over her face and went to the fridge t get a bottle of water.

Reaching for the handle, her eyes focused on a picture that had hung on the door since Adira had come home from the hospital. House held her, her eyes bright and locked on the camera because Wilson was taking the picture. She couldn't remember the last time she'd paid any attention to it, she just always knew it was there. It was, without a doubt, her favorite picture of House. One of the few decent pictures of him.

"I swear, Gregory House, if you die…" she reached up to touch the image of his face.

"Mama!"

Cuddy cleared her throat and backed away from the picture. She kept her eyes to the floor as she grabbed the bottle of water she'd wanted, and headed upstairs. She turned back, and pulled the picture off the fridge. She carried it with the image to her chest, up the stairs.

"Did you pick a book?" Cuddy leaned her head in to the girls' bedroom. They were both in Alexa's bed.

"Uh-huh," Adira held up Dr Seuss' Green Eggs And Ham. Cuddy's free hand wrapped around the door frame. How many times had she heard House read that book to the girls? He had bought it for them for Christmas one year, and had told them it was his favorite book when he was a boy. They insisted he read it to them every time he came to the house. They took it with them when they went to House and Wilson's house.

"You cans read it for Uncle Greg." Adira beamed. Proud of herself.

Cuddy nodded. "I'll be a minute." Her voice nearly broke, but she held it together for the girls' sake. She slipped in to her bedroom and shut the door. They would come looking for her soon. Two minutes. She'd let herself cry for two minutes, then she had to read the book, and put the girls to bed. After that, when they were asleep, when she was alone, she would cry until she couldn't shed another tear.

In sleep, he dreamed of happier times. Of laying with House on the sticky leather sofa he insisted on buying because the color reminded him of Wilson's eyes. In his dream, he kissed House's lips, and tasted blood.

He sat up, sweat matting his hair to his head, breath coming hard and fast in time with his pulse. He stood, and bent over House. Within seconds, the heart rate monitor bottomed out, the pulse ox monitor screeched its alarm, drowning out the steady beat of music from th iPod.

Wilson thrust his arms under House's body. "Dr Wilson?" Kelly, and at least half a dozen more nurses stampeded the room.

Wilson cocked his head, almost as if listening to the sounds of church bells in the distance. "I'm taking him home."

"Dr Wilson, I don't think…" Kelly stepped forward, both hands held out in front of her.

"I'm taking him home," Wilson repeated. Someone whispered an order to call Dr Cuddy. Wilson's head turned, his eyes scanning the nurses.

"I can't let you do that, Dr Wilson." A second nurse stepped in front of the others. "Please put Dr House back in the bed."

Wilson shook his head and took a step backward. His legs tangled in the wires and tubes from House's monitors. The IV drip fell and ripped a gash in House's arm. Blood rushed the wound and splattered Wilson's face and chest. Another step back, barely keeping his balance, and he was pressed against the wall.

"Dr Wilson, please." Kelly reached out to touch his arm, just above where House's leg was.

"Don't!" Wilson roared, eyes wild and unfocused though he was looking right at her. "Don't touch him!"

"James, I know you're upset. I know this is hard for you. But Dr House needs to be monitored. You know we're taking good care of him. Please just put him down in the bed. We'll take care of him. I'll take care of him, only me and you, if that's what you want."

His bottom lip quivered, but he allowed Kelly to guide him back to the bed. He lay House down and stayed bent down, as if shielding him.

Someone came back with a kit to clean up the blood from the IV. Someone else had a new IV set up. Kelly thanked them both and took the kits. "I've got it," she looked back over her shoulder and nodded for everyone to leave the room.

"I don't want him to die here." Wilson lifted his head to look at her. Unfocused still, but calm like the eye of a storm. "I can't let him die here."

"Dr House is too stubborn to die, Dr Wilson. You know that." Kelly smiled. "Will you let me clean up the blood and administer the new IV?"

Wilson's eyes closed. He didn't nod or acknowledge her question, but he did ease back a little, just enough. Kelly worked around him, and once House was settled, she wet a clean towel from the bathroom to clean the blood off Wilson's face. "I'll find you a clean shirt, okay?"

His eyes snapped open and he grabbed her wrist. "Don't…don't go."

Kelly covered his hand with hers. "All right, Dr Wilson. I'll stay as long as you need me to stay."


	7. Chapter 7

The hours passed with agonizing slowness. Kelly had the yellow chair brought down from House's office for Wilson. He didn't sleep, but rested fitfully, until morning when Cuddy came in and put a hand on his shoulder. He jolted to full consciousness with a gasp and a growl.

"He's holding his own," she stated before he could ask. "I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Wilson scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm, I'm okay." He sighed, and pushed his hand through his hair. "He had a quiet night."

"Surprising, after the stunt you tried to pull."

Wilson closed his eyes. "I'm not going to let him die here. You know, you know he wouldn't want that."

"He's not going to die, James."

"We don't know that."

Cuddy reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I know it. Alexa and Adira know it. They told me so. Adira dreamed about angels watching over him." Wilson mashed his lips together and looked away. Cuddy squeezed his hand again, then let go and walked over to the window as if she cared about the view beyond the glass.

Wilson got to his feet and stood at the side of the bed. He reached up with his uninjured hand to run his fingers through House's hair. "He wouldn't want to wake up from this," he said softly, emotion catching his words.

"Don't say that," Cuddy answered. She turned, back to the window, to face him. The promise of tears shone in her eyes, and she sniffled in an effort to keep the tears back.

He lay his palm flat against the bristles of House's beard. "You know it's true." He brushed his thumb across House's mouth. "His lips are so dry already. You know how he hates that. After the infarction…"

"This isn't the same…"

Wilson kept his eyes turned down to House, but his eyes were closed. "No. This is worse."

Cuddy pulled a deep breath, though it did nothing to settle her nerves. She pushed off from the window and moved around to slide her arms around Wilson. "We'll get him through this."

Wilson bent to kiss the top of her head, then turned down to kiss House's mouth. He whispered something against House's lips, pressed his forehead to House's forehead for a moment, then stepped back and away from Cuddy and away from the bed. "I can't…can't do this. I'm…I'm sorry." He stumbled back, scrambling away from the side of the bed.

"James?" Cuddy put a hand out to him. He shook his head, and turned fully around. House's heart rate bottomed out right then, as if he knew. The monitor sounded its alarm, and Cuddy knew that for the moment she had to let James go. She knew he needed time to think, to adjust to the situation. Whether or not House survived, James' life had been changed forever, and deep down she knew he was right. House wouldn't want to wake up to the life that awaited him now.

That wouldn't stop her from doing everything she could to keep him alive. He'd learn to live without his arm, without walking. It would be an adjustment for everyone who loved him, but she would fight for him. And with him.

"He'll come back. He Just needs time. You know how he is." Cuddy stroked House's cheek. She stepped back, grabbing as many of his toys as she could, so the response team could get to him easier.

He flat lined, and Cuddy could only watch in numbed shock as they shocked his heart back to life.

He took the stairs, rather than the elevator, so that he could keep moving. He couldn't stop. He knew everything would crash down on him, crush him, once he stopped running. He ran through the hospital lobby, despite the sound of several people calling his name. He went through the front doors, into the parking lot. Across the street to the dealer where House bought his motorcycle.

He wanted to scream at the injustice of it. Motorcycles were death traps, or worse. Definitely worse, because House wasn't dead. Except that he was. He would be cold and dead inside, when he woke up and realized he'd lost an arm, and the use of his legs he'd fought so hard for just a few years earlier.

Wilson ran harder, faster, to silence that voice in his head.

A little farther down the main road, to the day care where Alexa and Adira spent the day while Cuddy worked. He checked in on them, watching through the one way window until the class went outside. Once he hit the front door, he started running again, as if he were being chased.

He kept going until exhaustion burned in his muscles. He had no idea how long he'd run, or how far. He could easily lay down right where he was, but he kept going, pushing himself until he found a roadside motel. He had enough cash to pay for a couple nights, and he signed in under the name Gregory House.

The room felt like a hospital room, and he felt as if the walls would close in on him. He stood for a long moment just inside the door, shoulder to the wall. Finally he straightened, scrubbed his hand over his face, and walked into the room. He showered, then settled on the bed with the television on. House always had the TV blaring, or the radio, sometimes both. He liked white noise, to drown out everything else.

By the time House was settled again, all his toys were on the floor. The red lolly pops had been crushed under feet, and his iPod had been kicked to a corner. Cuddy was on her knees, gathering the things, and when someone said her name, she jumped and bumped her head on the chair from House's office.

"I'm sorry, Dr Cuddy."

"It's fine." Cuddy got to her feet and dropped what she had gathered into the chair. She looked at the nurse expectantly, but she was afraid to hope Wilson had come back.

"Your daughter's day care just called. Adira's complaining her head hurts."

Cuddy nodded and pushed her hair out of her face. "Thank you, Jennifer. I'll take care of it."

"Is there anything else, Dr Cuddy?"

"No. Thank you." Cuddy started arranging House's toys on the small table beside his bed. Once she had everything settled, she leaned in to kiss his cheek, then headed down to her office to call the day care.


	8. Chapter 8

She stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching them sleep. She'd put them to bed in their separate beds, but Adira had apparently climbed in to bed with Alexa some time during the night. They lay facing each other, comfortable as only sisters could be. She hated to wake them, but she needed to get them to day care so she could get back to the hospital. She hadn't seen House since the day care had insisted she pick Adira up the day before.

After a moment, she crossed the room and reached out to nudge them both gently. "Time to get up, girls."

Alexa sat up rubbing her eyes. "Good morning, mama."

"Good morning, sweetheart," Cuddy smiled.

Adira opened her eyes and reached a small hand up to lay her palm against Cuddy's cheek. "The angel said don't be sad, Mama."

"Did you have a nice dream, baby?"

Adira shook her head. "It wasn't a dream, Mama. I talked to the angels. Uncle Greg's angel said don't be sad, her is taking care of him."

Cuddy reached up to hold Adira's hand against her cheek. "That's very sweet of her, don't you think?"

"Her's an angel. That's what angels do. They takes care of peoples."

"You're right. Come on now, get a move on. Time to get dressed." Cuddy moved away from Adira and went to the closet to find both girls something to wear. Once they were dressed and ready to go, she went down to the kitchen to fix breakfast. She usually only fed them cereal on the weekends, but she wanted to get to the hospital as early as possible.

She put two bowls and the box on the table, and went to the refrigerator to get the milk. The picture of House holding Adira distracted her, and she pulled it out from under the magnet. Holding it in her hands, she felt her knees weaken. She wanted to scream, she wanted to cry.

The girls were chattering behind her, and the sound of cereal hitting the table pulled her back to herself. She reached up to dab at her eyes, and pulled the fridge door open.

"Good morning, Dr House," the clerk at the front desk greeted Wilson as he crossed the lobby. "Did you enjoy your stay last night?"

Wilson blinked, and rubbed his hand over his face, following through to paw at the back of his neck. "I did," he answered, and pivoted on his left foot to move toward the counter.

"I'm glad, Dr House. Is there anything I can help you with this morning?"

He watched her watch him approach the counter. And he noted the soft blush that colored her cheeks when he rested his elbows on the counter, and his head on one hand. "I don't think so, unless you know where I might find a decent cup of coffee?"

"Of course, Dr House." She raised a hand up to play with her ear ring.. He flashed an easy smile and she cleared her throat. She reached a delicate hand across the counter, Pointing to the front doors of the motel. "You go out here, and take a left. Take the first left right after that, and then two blocks down. It's a little diner right on the corner, beside the bike shop. Attracts a lot of bikers, but most of them are good people."

Wilson let his hand fall in such a way to brush against her hand. He nodded once, the way House would nod. "Thanks for the tip. I've been thinking about getting a bike, myself."

"Have you?" She leaned forward just the slightest bit."

He nodded once. "I knew someone who was…well." He straightened and stuffed both hands in his pockets. "It doesn't matter. Do you ride?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Only as a passenger."

"Well, if I decide to buy one today, I'll have to take you for a spin around the block." His eyes lightened with the challenge. "What time do you get off?"

She cleared her throat. "Five o'clock today."

"I just might see you then." He smiled once more, and turned to leave. He thought she might say something more, but she didn't. He looked back over his shoulder, to see that she was bent over the desk, apparently writing something. He clicked his tongue and walked out into the bright light of the early morning sun.

He stopped at the bank to withdraw as much cash as they would authorize, claiming he intended to purchase a new vehicle. He went to the diner then, and carried his steaming coffee to the bike shop. By mid afternoon, wrote a check and drove off the lot on his very own pre-owned bike.

He revved the bike's engine outside the motel at exactly five o'clock. He wasn't sure the receptionist would really expect him to be there. He didn't even know her name. He sighed and closed his eyes, hands gripping the bars, bike idling between his legs.

He never understood the passion before, even when he rode, even when he learned to ride on his own. He'd never owned his own bike before, he'd never needed to, and he'd never cared. It felt different now, he felt different.

"You're kidding!" she shouted, and he opened his eyes, a wide smile breaking across his face. "You don't really…"

"Yes, I do. Hop on. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

She hesitated, looked back at the motel. He revved the engine for effect. "Are you coming?" He held out the helmet for her. She fingered her hair then took the helmet and slid it on. She climbed onto the bike behind him, arms around his waist. He snapped his own helmet in to place. "You didn't tell me where you want to go."

She went in to the side of his bed, and noted that his toys were exactly as she had left them. She put her hand up to his face and knelt to kiss his cheek. "I just want you to know Adira assures me you've got an angel watching over you, and I swear I will never forgive you if you let our little girl down."

She pulled back and reached in to her pocket. She unfolded the picture from her refrigerator and held it up as if she were showing it to him, then refolded it and tucked it into his hand.

He felt as if he were drifting, carried on a current like a piece of driftwood. His soul was peaceful, calm. Content. Suddenly the tide changed, and he felt himself spinning out of control, gasping for breath and struggling to keep his head above the water.


	9. Chapter 9

They held hands as they walked back to his bike. The bar had been dark, and the whiskey had been watered down, and he didn't talk much, but she talked enough for both of them. If he hadn't known her name before, he knew it now. Jenna, shortened from Jennifer. She'd told him her life history, and had hoped the ease him in to telling her a little bit about himself.

He'd been quiet, even when she asked him direct questions. Not rude, she decided. Just quiet. She guessed he didn't like talking about himself, he seemed much more comfortable with listening.

"Hey listen," she said as she took the helmet, before she climbed on to the bike. "You want to come back to my place? I'll even reverse the room charge so you won't get billed for it."

Wilson ran a hand over his helmet. It shone under the street lamp, and the blue reminded him of someone's eyes. He peered at her, but her eyes were brown. "Sure, honey. If that's what you want."

She nodded. He smiled and threw his leg over the bike, and looked back at her as she braced a hand on his shoulder in order to slide on behind him.

He let her hand flutter across the back of his neck, and she thought she heard him purr as his head dropped forward. "Just go back to the motel, and turn right at that traffic light instead of left."

He straightened and pushed his helmet in to place and the engine roared to life with a flick of his wrist. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her chest against his back. The ride back to her place wasn't nearly as long as she might have liked, but then that just meant she'd get him in the bedroom sooner.

She fumbled with the keys, her body still humming from the rumble of the bike, and throbbing with the sexual tension she felt. He followed her in to the apartment, and as soon as the door closed she found herself pressed against the wall, hands linked in his and held to the wall next to her head.

She growled and kicked her shoes off, drew her foot up his leg. His pants bunched, and stopped at the knee. He dragged her foot back down to his ankle and up again, more smoothly under his pant leg.

He shifted his grip on her hands, pinning both wrists over her head and holding them with one hand. She could have fought him off, but as his other hand slid down her face and tugged at the first buttons of her blouse, she forgot all about resistance.

"I really appreciate this," Cuddy let go of Alexa's hand so she could set Adira down on the ground.

"You know it's no problem," Grace smiled.

"I go with you!" Adira clung to Cuddy's neck, her legs wrapped around Cuddy's waist. Alexa sat on the front steps of Grace's house, waiting. Grace sat down beside her and put an arm over her shoulder. Alexa leaned into the embrace.

Cuddy pried Adira off her legs and off her neck. She knelt in front of her and reached up to stroke the hair back from her face. It was late, the girls were already in the pajamas, when Cuddy got the call that House was waking up. "I know you want to come with me, baby," She had blue eyes, clear and bright like House's eyes that seemed to look through her as much as at her. "I'm going to see Uncle Greg, and you can't go to the ICU."

"It's not fair," Adira crossed her arms over her chest. "I want to see hims too."

Cuddy dropped her hand to Adira's shoulder. "I know you do, baby. I know you do. And when he's awake, I'm sure he'll want to see you. But right now Uncle Greg is really sick, and he needs to rest so he can get better."

Adira looked away, her jaw set stubbornly. Any other time, Cuddy might have been amused at how much she looked like Wilson when she was upset. "Hims angel is watching hims."

"I know you don't understand baby, but I need you to be a big girl and stay with Grace and Lexy, okay?"

"You not coming home tonight, are yous?"

Cuddy leaned in to kiss Adira's cheek. "No, honey. I think I'm going to stay with Uncle Greg tonight."

Adira nodded. "When will we sees you again?" She raised her hand up to push Cuddy's hair away from her face where it fell over her eye.

"I'll see you tomorrow. I'll pick you up from day care."

"Promise?"

"Promise," Cuddy smiled. She moved forward to hug Adira, then turned to call Alexa over for a hug too, before she left.

She couldn't get to the hospital fast enough. Nearly an hour had passed since she got the call, to when she took the stairs up to House's room. Kelly met her at the door, and started giving a run down of House's condition before Cuddy could even ask.

"He's opened his eyes, and he's responding to verbal and physical stimuli. He indicated he knows where he is, but not what happened. He wouldn't let go of the picture."

Cuddy nodded, and moved quickly to the side of the bed. She glanced at the output on his monitors as she reached for his hand, enveloping his palm in hers, one hand sliding against the smooth backing of the photograph he held. His fingers tightened, as if to hold on to the picture. "Greg, I'm here. Can you hear me?"

His eye lids fluttered, then opened. His eyes were dull, glassy, and though it was hard to tell with the tube down his throat, but she was certain his expression fell. He tried to lift his head, eyes wide and searching, looking past her. She reached up with one hand to touch his cheek. "Don't tell me you're not happy to see me."

He blinked, twice for no. Cuddy turned her palm to his cheek, her fingers lightly grazing his hair. She didn't want to mention Wilson and risk upsetting him, though Wilson was who he was looking for. His head dropped back against the pillows and his eyes closed.

"I want you to rest right now, Greg. Just try to rest." He'd be more alert in a few hours, and with a little luck, they could get the tube out of his throat. He didn't object, and in fact seemed to take her suggestion to heart. His features relaxed, and his eyes remained closed.

Cuddy stayed as she was, bent over him, holding his hand for a long moment. When she was sure he was out, she moved back and settled in the chair from his office that she'd had sent down for James. "Where the hell are you, you son of a bitch," she muttered. If James walked into the room right then, she would be torn between insanely happy to see him and extremely pissed at him for leaving. She understood why he ran off, as much as she loved and cared about House, House wasn't her lover. His accident would affect her life, his recovery would affect her life, but it wouldn't become her life the way it would become James' life. He needed time to adjust, to accept what had happened. But damn it, she needed him and Greg needed him now.

She raised a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and saw those blue eyes looking at her. She forced a smile. "Hey." His eyes closed. She stood and moved to the side of the bed. "I don't know where he is, Greg. He needs time He'll be back."

His hand tightened into a fist around the picture, and he turned his face away from her. She leaned down to kiss his forehead, and reached up to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

They lay together in a tangle of arms and legs and sweat. He assumed she was sleeping due to the even rhythm of her breath. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling. There's been water damage at some point, and someone had merely pained over it. Crap job too, from the looks of it.

He sighed and she shifted against him. He reached up to comb his fingers through her hair so she wouldn't wake. He closed his eyes then, and tried to keep his mind focused on the amazing sex he'd just had. He hadn't been with a woman for a very long time. Six years, since the last one.

It felt nice. Not right. No. Definitely not right. But…nice. He thought he'd bore himself to sleep going over medical facts in his mind, which also served to try to keep his thoughts from wandering to other things, things he didn't want to think about.

Like a hospital room back at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. A patient laying in the ICU with one arm torn away, and both legs ruined. It was the sudden shrill alarm of the heart monitor that brought him up from the bed, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat.

"What is it?" Jenna asked, lifting her head, her eyes bleary with sleep.

"It's nothing," he lied. "Go back to sleep."

She sat up and rubbed at both eyes. The sheet slipped down to her waist, she pulled it back up to cover her breasts. "You're leaving, aren't you?"

"No." He pushed the covers back and climbed out to the bed. "I'm going to take a piss."

"And then?" She lay back against the pillows and idly let her hand drift over her breasts.

"Then I'm coming back to bed."


	10. Chapter 10

He stretched when he woke, and reached to the other side of the bed. He expected to connect with a warm body, and thought to open his eyes to see House laying next to him. The other side of the bed was unoccupied, and he snapped his eyes open with the sudden memory that he wasn't at home. He blinked as the figure at the end of the bed came in to focus. She wore only a T-shirt, and her hair hung in ringlets around her face.

"What are you doing?" He pushed himself up to the pillows.

Her head snapped up and she looked at him, guilty, like a cat with the bird still in its mouth. "Who is Dr House?" she asked, recovering from being caught, and holding up his wallet. She'd been looking at the pictures. "Cute kids. Is he the guy in all these pictures?"

Wilson didn't look at the pictures often, but he knew them well. Most of them were House and the girls. His left hand went to the back of his neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." He pulled at his neck and lifted his eyes up to look at her as she sat on the edge of the bed.

She flipped the wallet back to the driver's license and thrust her arm out, holding it an inch from his face. "Says here you're Dr Wilson."

Wilson shook his head. "No."

"No what? This is your wallet, your picture. The name isn't House." Wilson's hand dropped to his lap. He looked away, but her hand on his jaw forced him to look back at her. His eyes closed. She sighed. "Hey. I just want to know what's going on here. Who is Dr House? He's your emergency contact number, so he must be somebody."

Wilson opened his eyes, and he opened his mouth, but there were no words. He shook his head and set his jaw in an effort to hold back a surge of emotion that threatened to over take him. She was looking at the pictures, and he couldn't stop himself looking too. A picture of House with Alexa's arms around his neck and Adira in his lap. He remembered it well, that picture had been taken on Adira's second birthday. Wilson blinked rapidly, and his head fell forward as he lost the battle and tears spilled down his cheeks.

She stood, still clutching his wallet, and paced at the end of the bed. He rolled onto his side and clutched a pillow to his chest. He knew he should pull himself together. He should give her some sort of explanation.

He had no idea how long he cried. It might have been five minutes, or five hours. Eventually he felt his wallet thump the bed, and he managed to pull himself together enough to look up at her. She had what appeared to be work clothes in her hand. "You need to leave so I can get ready for work."

He rubbed furiously at his face with both hands. "I owe you an explanation."

"We had a good time last night, Doctor. You don't owe me anything." His hands dropped away from his face and he reached for his wallet. "It's all there," she nodded toward him. "If you want to count it."

He shook his head. If she'd taken the cash he'd gotten from the bank, he deserved it. "He's my partner." Wilson's lip trembled along with his voice. "He was in an accident a few day ago."

"I'm sorry."

Wilson opened his wallet to the picture from Adira's birthday and tapped his finger over House's face. "I love him, and I…I can't sit around, waiting for him to wake up, because when he wakes up and realizes what's happened to him, he's going to die inside."

She reached up to touch his face. "You shouldn't be here."

"You don't understand." Wilson took in a deep breath, held it for a long moment, then released it through his nose. "You don't know House."

"I know enough to know he's a lucky guy, and you should be with him." She dropped her hand to cover his hand and gave a gentle squeeze. "What ever happened to him, he's alive, and I'm guessing you're the first one he's going to be looking for when he does wake up."

Wilson mashed his lips together and looked away. He focused his gaze on a spot on the ceiling until he felt he could talk. He turned her hand over in his and patted the back with his other hand. "Thank you."

"I've got ice chips," Cuddy approached the side of House's bed when she saw that he was awake. She didn't expect him to show any interest in the chips, but it was something to say. She dug a chip out and held it out to him. He closed his eyes and held his lips together, jaw set against her.

She sighed and dropped the ice back into the cu and set it aside. House didn't open his eyes, and after a moment she sat down in the yellow chair again. The tube had been removed from his throat almost three hours earlier. She'd expected him to talk, if only to ask about Wilson. Aside from coughing and wheezing, he hadn't mad a sound. He hadn't asked about Wilson, hadn't asked about the girls, hadn't asked what happened. He looked away or closed is eyes when Cuddy spoke to him.

She knew it would take time. He needed time to process what was happening around him. Knowing him like she did, she knew his mind was trying to structure what he knew like a puzzle, and he was attempting to fit the pieces together to make a bigger picture. The question was how much he knew, and what holes punctured his memory and skewed his facts, and this puzzle.

"I wish you'd talk to me," she sat forward on the edge of the chair and put a hand out to his arm, her fingers traveling down to his hand. He still held the picture she'd put in his grip the night before, though he hadn't looked at it. She wondered what he thought it was, if he even knew it was a picture. She tried to pry it loose, but his hand tightened. "Tell me what you're feeling, what you're thinking."

His eyes fluttered, his face tensed. She knew he was about to cough, and she reached up to support his head and his shoulder so he could lean a little to the side. The effort left him wheezing and exhausted, misery etched into his features. She smoothed the hair back from his face, her palm caressing his forehead long after he drifted into a restless sleep.

"Stubborn jerk," she muttered.


End file.
